


The Driver

by NoisyNoiverns



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Driving, Gen, Pre-Canon, first day on the job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:27:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29660340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoisyNoiverns/pseuds/NoisyNoiverns
Summary: Blackwatch's Sergeant Aurigas has recently been transferred to the Citadel as a replacement for Councilor Sparatus's regular driver while she's on medical leave. He's not having a very good first day.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	The Driver

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a joke oneshot, like 1k max, but i got emotionally invested in the characters and here we are
> 
> set in 2175, 8 years before the events of me1. speeds are in kph

Aurigas exhaled, long and slow, watching the sour berry-scented smoke curl out of his mouth and disappear into the chilly Citadel air. The e-pen didn’t hold a candle to actual cigarettes, if you asked him, but customs had warned him it was better to suck it up and deal with it than risk the open flame on an enclosed station. He thought they were making too big a fuss, he’d smoked on _plenty_ of stations with no problem before, but the higher-ups had said _deal with it,_ so he was fucking dealing with it, whether he liked it or not.

He shuffled his feet to keep warm, glancing over his shoulder at the rest of his team still in the barracks behind him. He was still getting used to them, having only been transferred to Turian Imperial Army Base CIT-37 (or Preschool, if you listened to the dumbasses in the ranks who thought everything needed a nickname, though whether they’d settled on that one because of the base’s abbreviation having the first few letters of the alphabet or because the Citadel was considered an _easy_ stationing, he couldn’t tell) a week and a half prior. They seemed alright enough. Bit goofy, bit dumb, but alright. They did their job, did it well, and did it with pride, and that was all Blackwatch asked of them, so he supposed it wasn’t really his place to judge.

One of them came up to the doorway now, still putting on the final pieces of his armor. Standard black set today, nothing special. “Hey, Tusk, you good to go already?”

Aurigas grimaced and snorted back at him, mandibles flaring outward and unintentionally revealing the extra-long bottom tooth that stuck out over his maxillary plates and had earned him the stupid nickname. “I’m just the driver, remember? Blues don’t take so long to get on.”

The nicknamer bobbed his head. The nameplate along the side of his cowl designated him Sergeant Bation. He had the same medium-brown plates as two other drakes and one hen in the platoon, so that didn’t help with the recognition. He was the tallest of them, Aurigas remembered that much. “Right, right, forgot. Make sure you’re good on the smoke before you get there, old man’s got heart disease. Can’t breathe in the stuff too much, ’s bad for him, y’know?”

Aurigas suppressed another annoyed mandible flick. They were all still getting used to each other, and this position was supposed to last a while. He didn’t need to be making any enemies just yet. Especially not given they were all assigned to the protection of _one_ crotchety old drake. “Already been told, thanks. You know anything else about ’im?”

Bation shrugged, emerging from the doorway and leaning against the wall on the other side of it. “Not a lot. Only been here a couple months, myself. Seems like a nice old cob, though, from what I’ve gathered. Quiet, keeps to himself. Doesn’t have any hired help besides us, if you can believe it.”

Aurigas’s brow plates popped up. Most of it he’d already gathered for himself just from listening in while he was shadowing the driver he’d be replacing, but the last part was new. “I _can’t,_ actually,” he drawled, lifting the pen to his mouth for another puff. “Guy that rich an’ important, cleaning his own house? You’re kidding.”

Bation chuffed and shook his head, raising a claw to his throat. “On my honor. His son told me. The older one, him and his wife are living with them while the wife’s stationed here, the younger son and the daughter are both away at mandatory for now, you’ll meet ’em when they come back on leave. Old buzzard grew up in one of those ‘everybody has to help’ kinda cultures, feels bad asking anyone else to do stuff he sees as _his_ job. Plus, y’know, he’s got three adult kids, why pay somebody to do what the kids’ll do for free?” He put his hand down, folding his arms under his keel. “Wife loves it, from what I’ve heard. She gets home-cooked meals from hubby instead of hiring a chef or getting takeout all the time.”

Aurigas hummed, considering this. He exhaled another elegant cloud before responding. “Rot your teeth out.”

“Tell me about it.”

They shared a chuckle, and Aurigas checked on the rest of the squad again. Still getting ready, but a few of them were done, just staying inside to keep warm. Bation was the only one who felt like braving the perpetual chill of the Wards to make nice, apparently. “You met her yet? The wife? She’s the one on CNN, isn’t she, Epirian?”

Bation nodded again, clicking his mandibles. “Oh, yeah, she visits the Tower a lot when she’s not working on a piece. Real sweetheart, sun shines outta her ass. Lot smaller’n she looks on the streams, though, you could pick her up with one hand, but don’t let that fool you, she’s _definitely_ the one in charge at that house.”

Aurigas flicked a mandible with a chuff and a glance over at him. “You think he..?”

Bation sniffed and raised a hand like a good soldier. “It’s not my place to speculate on any aspects of my employer’s private life.” Hand went down. “He totally does, though.”

Aurigas snorted. “Figures. Good for him, I guess.”

“Yeah, secure in his masculinity, or whatever. Least they’re both happy, far as I can tell. Ain’t seen a _trace_ of any of those mistresses the gossip rags all claim he’s got. And if there’s anybody who’d know, it’s us, y’know?” He snickered. “’Tween you and me, I think he can barely handle the one partner he’s _got_ , much less do all that juggling.”

Aurigas hummed noncommittally. “You don’t have anybody yourself, do you, Bation?”

If he realized it was a jab, Bation pretended otherwise. Aurigas was more inclined to think he just didn’t care if it was or not. He shook his head and shrugged, shifting to brace one foot back against the building. “Nah, too much work for me. Maybe someday, just not now, y’know?”

Aurigas shrugged and took another contemplative puff. Bation didn’t seem like the best source of information, but at least he made enough chatter to keep the chill at bay.

The lieutenant came out then, tall and broad-shouldered but without the bulk to fill out his frame. “Good, you’re ready,” he grunted at the sight of them snapping to attention. “At ease. Come on, first day on the job, gotta get there early to make everything official. Indacolus will drive on the way over, explain all the bits you need to know, then we’ll say hullo to the councilor, and it’s all you from there. Bation, back with the others, your squad has the morning rotation.”

Bation snapped a crisp salute and vanished back inside, leaving Aurigas with the lieutenant. Erastolus wasn’t the most personable of officers, but Aurigas could respect that. Lead through example, and all that. The brisk tromp to the garage where all the fancy skycars meant for driving generals and other important types around were stored was businesslike, mostly filled with _“sir!”_ s from passing lower-ranks and the occasional gruff reminder of odds and ends. Aurigas was fine with that.

Sergeant Indacolus, the driver Aurigas was replacing, was much warmer. “Hey, rook,” she greeted him with clasping forearms and an offered travel mug of kava. “Got you Creamy Way. Figured you could use it sooner than stopping by with the boss. Shot of caramel, two sugars, and the dairy-free creamer, right?”

Aurigas grunted, accepting the mug. _“Two_ shots, but thanks.” He’d been shadowing her on the usual routes for the week and a half he’d been there, trying to learn as much as he could before she had to go home for her upcoming medical leave. She was a little snarky now and again, but she was nice enough. She kept pictures of her wife and kid on the dash.

They got in, Indacolus driving, Aurigas in the passenger seat, the lieutenant in the back. It wasn’t that far a drive, and by now Aurigas knew it like the back of his hand. Still, he found himself analyzing every turn, every street name, every minute detail. It was his last chance. The plan was, he would take her place while she had the tumor on her kidney removed and went through recovery, and then it would all come down to whether or not the councilor liked him. If not, Indacolus would be back after a few months, and he’d move on to the next stationing. If yes, then the two of them would share the position. She’d told him she hoped the old man took a shine to him so she’d have an actual designated second to work in shifts with instead of whatever random enlisted the LT pulled out of his ass when she needed to be somewhere else, but he wasn’t so sure. People outside the military didn’t tend to like him much.

They left the car in the parking garage attached to the building, in the reserved parking closest to the elevator. Technically, the spots were just for building residents, but Blackwatch had special permission given the most important turian in xenopolitics couldn’t exactly just drive _himself_ around the Citadel unguarded. Indacolus came along to say her goodbyes. She kept up a steady stream of chatter the whole slow, meandering elevator ride up, which Aurigas mostly just let wash over him, too preoccupied with what was waiting at the top of the building. His gizzard fluttered. He’d _technically_ met the councilor before, a rumbled greeting now and again, a quick _“Mornin’ sir, this is Aurigas, he’s shadowing me so he can take my place while I’m on medical,”_ from Indacolus the first morning, but his attention had mostly been glued to the road and Indacolus’s hands as she drove. He hadn’t even really taken in the polite conversations each ride. _It’s all you from here._

The night rotation was still standing guard when they got to the penthouse entrance. They’d go home once the councilor left, and the morning rotation would be waiting when they got to the Tower. Aurigas wasn’t as familiar with the night guards, there wasn’t much chance to interact when they were asleep and he was out driving with Indacolus. They eyed him as their trio approached, even as they snapped to attention for the lieutenant. “As you were,” Erastolus grunted, rolling his shoulders before rapping out a quick, staccato knock on the door.

On the other side, a muffled, computerized voice called out, the VI announcing their arrival. Somebody else shouted, followed by another, then the first voice again, then a third, closer to the door, and then it opened, and a tiny, tawny hen with a splotch of mud-brown in the middle of her face was on the other side. “Sorry, it’s a bit chaotic today,” she said, adjusting her blouse. “Sivia got a call early in the morning that she’s being transferred, TEC, you know...” She smoothed out her skirt, then straightened up and looked over the party, eyes alighting on Aurigas. “Oh, I don’t know you.”

Erastolus cleared his throat. “Ma’am, this is Sergeant Aurigas, he’ll be replacing Sergeant Indacolus as your husband’s driver effective today. Aurigas, this is the Lady Sparatus. You’ll drive her now and again, too. You more likely know her from Citadel NewsNet.”

“Aediteia Epirian,” the little hen said, holding out her hand for him to take and touch his brow plate to. He did so, politely, trying not to marvel over how small it was in his own. Bation had been right, Aurigas probably _could_ just pick her up by the back of the cowl and walk off with her. “Senior reporter. Call me whatever you want, as long as it’s not _Lady,_ it makes me feel old. Eri’s in the kitchen, this way.”

She turned and padded further into the spacious penthouse, and Indacolus leaned over to mutter, “ _Makes her feel old,_ she’s _seventy,_ she _is_ old.”

Aurigas grumbled. “Looks pretty good for seventy.”

“Don't she? Normally I'm not too into MILFs, but _woof._ Off-limits, though, y'know, against regs, plus it's a pretty happy marriage.”

“Not into hens much, but I'll keep it in mind.”

The lieutenant cleared his throat noisily, and they fell silent, following the Lady Sparatus through the entryway and living room, around a wall, and into the kitchen. “Eri, sunshine, Blackwatch is here.”

The councilor was smaller in real life than he seemed in vids. Aurigas hadn’t noticed in the car. Maybe it was the perspective. In the vids, he was always accompanied by the other councilors and sometimes ambassadors, and he was taller than everyone but the salarian. In his own kitchen, trying to check his bag while working through a handful of bacon, he was surrounded by other turians, but the only one he was taller than was his teeny-tiny wife. A tawny drake who looked remarkably like Aediteia without the muddy face spot pulling a plate down from a cupboard was a talon-length taller, a stormcloud-gray hen tapping away at her omni-tool was a talon-length taller than _him,_ and Aurigas himself was eye-level with the top of the old man’s head. Huh. He tried to remember if he’d ever seen footage of him with any of the other embassy turians.

Sparatus rumbled, sparing them a glance for a few seconds before going back to his bag. “Oh, is it time already?”

Indacolus cleared her throat. “’Fraid so, sir. My surgery’s tomorrow, I start prep for it later today.”

Aediteia gave a sympathetic trill, picking up a chipped _Galaxy’s Best Mom_ mug from the corner of the center island. “Oh, dear, really? Already?” She clicked her mandibles and raised an arm to gesture her over for a hug, which she accepted with a tight squeeze in return. _“Ooh,_ good hug, that’s a good hug. Good luck, dear, hope everything goes well, you have our personals, let us know how things go, we’ll send flowers.”

Indacolus chuffed, rocking her in the hug ever so slightly. “It’s a routine surgery, ma’am, I’ll be okay,” she assured her.

“I know, but I worry, you know that.”

The tawny clicked his mandibles. “Mom, Blackwatch has a job to do,” he reminded her, padding over to gently tug on her shoulder. “And Dad’s gotta get to work regardless.”

“Hm? Oh, yes, I suppose.” Aediteia released Indacolus from her mothering and turned to her husband, gesturing to them. “Your turn.”

Sparatus snorted, having finished his bag inspection and taken a seat at the island counter to finish his food. “Good luck, Sergeant,” he said, holding out an arm for her to clasp forearms. “Keep in touch. You know how to get ahold of my secretary, let her know what kind of flowers you like and I’ll have some delivered.” Aurigas thought he saw the old man give Indacolus a quick, small wink. “The Army can afford to spring for the _nice_ bouquets now and again, if specific persons annoy them about it enough.”

“Thank you, sir, will do.” He definitely didn’t imagine the blatant skywards tilt of Indacolus’s mandibles.

Erastolus huffed and cleared his throat. “Sir, this is Master Sergeant Bellicus Aurigas,” he said, a little too abruptly. “Sergeant Indacolus should have already introduced him, but this is just to make everything official, you understand. Aurigas, Councilor Ierian Sparatus.”

“Yes, we’ve exchanged pleasantries.” Now the councilor finally turned his gaze on Aurigas, and it was different from the one he wore in the vids, less intense, more curious. A searching light glinted in his teal eyes, softening the rough, jagged scars marring the left side of his face as he looked Aurigas up and down. Finally, he clicked his mandibles. “Nice to finally meet face-to-face, I suppose. _Councilor,_ _sir,_ or my name are fine, but if you call me _Your Excellency,_ I’ll have you shot.”

Aurigas nodded in return, but before he could say anything, the gray hen interrupted. “Did he say _Bellicus?”_ she asked, looking up from her omni-tool.

Aurigas finally let himself show an emotion, lowering his brow plates and mandibles in a scowl. “Unfortunately.”

Sparatus gave a short click-whistle. “Not a fan of _Fleet and Flotilla,_ I take it.”

“Never seen it myself, sir. Just heard every dumb joke relating to it since it was released. Strictly last name-only, now.”

Sparatus nodded in understanding with a noncommittal hum. “I see. Shame, it’s a perfectly fine name. Not sure about the vid, but the name is fine.”

The gray shrugged. “Eh, it was mediocre. Caught it on a flight, myself. The dialogue was too cheesy for me to really get into it.”

“It was written by an asari, that’s why,” the tawny replied, pouring himself a new mug of kava. “We looked it up at work. Her other major credits are all soap operas.”

Sparatus flicked a mandible in acknowledgment. “This is Areus, my eldest, and his wife, Sivia,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “Our younger two are away at mandatory, you’ll meet them eventually.” With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet and picked up his bag. “I suppose we should get going. Thank you, Lieutenant, Sergeant Indacolus. We’ll be fine from here. Be seeing you. Get out of my apartment.”

The lieutenant and Indacolus both saluted, then turned and walked back the way they’d come, leaving Aurigas alone with the family as the old man collected his things. Despite his apparent preparedness, it still took a while, specifically because each Sparatus in the kitchen needed to say their goodbyes and receive a hug. His wife, additionally, stopped him to pepper his face with kisses and remind him she’d be bringing lunch, so text her what he wanted, and don’t snack _too_ much, but if his secretary brought homemade cookies again that was okay. All this, of course, was said while cupping the councilor’s face in her hands like a character in a vid having an emotional connection with a giant wild animal. He even exhaled noisily in her face to make her giggle before releasing him and accepting a return kiss. _Old married folks._ Aurigas decided to wait by the door.

The walk back down to the car took a little more time than the way up, mostly because now Aurigas was keeping pace with an old lawyer who wasn’t terribly interested in moving quickly. Thankfully, the councilor was about as interested in conversation as Aurigas was.

“We don’t need to stop by Creamy Way this morning. My daughter-in-law made my kava.”

“’lright, sir. Bakery?”

“Of course. Niravi’s expecting me.”

“Thought you just had breakfast, sir.”

“It’s a snack, Sergeant.”

“Diet-approved?”

“Close enough.”

Aurigas shook his head and clicked the unlock button on the car’s omni-tool control. Good enough for him.

That was the extent of their scintillating conversation, and that was how Aurigas liked it. In the car, the radio was flipped to the same heavy metal extranet stream Indacolus had explained to him was the old man’s favorite, the window shading was turned down, the councilor was settled in the back like he could have been asleep, and Aurigas was tuned out. He didn’t know if Sparatus wasn’t in the mood for chatter or if he’d just already pegged Aurigas for a “no small talk” sort, but either way, he wasn’t saying much, and Aurigas wasn’t about to complain. The less things he had to focus on other than driving, the better.

It being the first morning back to work after a weekend, traffic was terrible. Traffic was _always_ terrible on the Citadel, really, but it seemed to particularly have it out for him today. Aurigas couldn’t remember if Indacolus had ever specified whether or not it was acceptable to shout at other drivers while the councilor was in the car, but he was pretty sure road rage that could be traced back to him would be frowned upon, so he mostly tried to stick to smacking the dash in frustration and cursing under his breath as morons swerved out in front of him, ran red lights, didn’t signal their turns, made valiant attempts to tailgate a _badged Hierarchy military vehicle you dumb fucking piece of shit-_

At least the music was energetic enough to match his heart rate. It felt better to vent aggression in time with the rhythm than it would have set to some trite easy-listening shit like the lieutenant had suggested.

A red light popped up, giving him the perfect excuse to give the tailgater a brake check. Fuckhead salarian _almost_ failed, and he _almost_ had an excuse to pull over and roar at someone, but the stupid frog’s front bumper _just_ barely stopped before kissing their back, as the sensors around the sides of the car warned him at max volume. Probably some hunk of junk so out of date all of its own sensors and collision-prevention systems had stopped updating their drivers years ago. He adjusted the rearview mirror so he could make direct, blazing eye contact with him, willing him to spontaneously develop telepathy and read the fury scorching through his nerves. _If you get me into a wreck with Councilor fucking Sparatus in the backseat, there isn’t a single fucking lawyer desperate enough or stupid enough to help you._

The light turned, the mass of cars started to go, and he forced himself to take some deep breaths. _Don’t start shit._ It was just the stress of the first day getting to him, he reasoned. There was a lot going on, and the shitty traffic wasn’t helping, and he didn’t have Indacolus in the front with him to distract him from his mood. They’d practiced each route while the councilor was working, let Aurigas get behind the dash and learn what he was doing and where he was going, but that hadn’t had the buzzard in the car, and morning rush hour was _much_ different from lunch rush. He’d get the old man to work, leave the car in the garage, and go for a walk around the Presidium. That sounded good. He liked the Presidium, and even the aliens fresh from the homeworld knew to leave a turian in dress uniform alone.

He flexed his fingers in a wave before settling his hands again and letting out a long, slow exhale. That would work. He could get something at the bakery, too. The asari running the place was friendly enough, and had said he could come hang out whenever he wanted someplace to sit and chill. That was a plan. Get to the bakery, let the councilor take his time, have a few pastries, maybe socialize a little, go to work. The old man liked to sit and chat with other regulars he knew, after all, and only rushed if he had a meeting first thing in the morning. He hadn’t said anything about one today, so they could take their sweet, sweet time, and Aurigas could catch his breath. Niravi made a pretty damn good pretan fritter, too. It was a tantalizing enough concept to soothe him, keep him from losing his cool _too_ much, sustain him through the perils of Citadel rush hour…

… for the next three intersections, and then halfway to the next one he saw flashing lights turn on in the rearview, an alert popped up on the dash that C-Sec was requesting he pull over, and all that serenity flew out the window. “You gotta be _fucking_ _ **kidding me**_ _!”_ he bellowed, the sound reverberating through his chest and echoing in the car as the dam finally broke. He punched the acceptance with much more force than necessary. _Fuck._ Of course this had to happen on the first day, _of fucking course._ As the car’s autopilot kicked in and meandered him over to the side of the road, he brought his fist down on the center console a couple times, seethed a little, and smacked the dash some more for good measure. He couldn’t afford to beat the snot out of C-Sec, not in uniform, but he had to let it out _somehow_ before the power-tripping little sonuvabitch got there.

 _Deep breaths._ He forced himself to inhale, nice and slow, and grabbed the datapad with the car’s information out of the dash. _Just breathe, asshole._ What a great fucking impression to make on the first fucking day. He was only driving around _the fucking councilor,_ after all. Only _the most important fucking turian in xenopolitics,_ no big deal. _No big fucking deal._

He turned off the stereo and clasped his hands on his kneecaps to ground himself as he watched the little shit get out of their car. Turian. _Great._ Some fresh new kid, too, from the look of him. Aurigas bet he hadn’t even worn out the starch in his uniform yet. If he squinted, he was pretty sure there was an asari in the front seat. Probably a mentor or something.

He drummed his talons on the dash as the kid walked up, omni-tool ready for a sync so they could _go_. Had the dumbass not noticed the badges on the plates? They were _clearly marked_ as a Hierarchy chauffeur vehicle, they had special privileges for the councilor’s safety, did nobody in C-Sec have any damn _sense?_ He hit the window control with the sharpest, most annoyed _click_ in his life. He had shit to _do._

The kid strolled up to the window like every other school bully who thought flashing lights and a badge made them something scarier than that, flipping open his ’tool as if it was something to strike fear into the uppity military goon’s heart instead of another irritating pebble in his boot to make his mandible twitch in disdain. “License and registration. Do you know why I pulled you over?”

’ _Cause you don’t know what the stickers on the plates mean._ It took every fiber of his being to keep the oozing, popping venom out of his voice as he held up the datapad. “No,” he forced out through his teeth. “But this is a Hierarchy escort, I’m afforded certain privileges with the police, it’s in the papers.”

The kid gave the datapad a dismissive glance-over, then tucked it under his own without going through it. “We’ll see about that,” he said loftily. “These are popular cars to spoof, you know. The speed limit in this zone is 110, you were going 112, and one of your taillights seems to be out.”

Aurigas’s gizzard churned. _Two over the fucking limit._ Power-tripping little _fuck._ “Kid, I’m wearing dress blues. Two over the limit is within the standard range of error on most spedometers, and the VI isn’t registering anything amiss with the lights. Everything’s there, if you’d actually _look_ at it.” There was already acid at the back of his throat. He took a drink of his kava to choke it back down. Spitting bile would _definitely_ classify as road rage, and road rage bad enough to get him discharged, to boot. “We’re running late.”

The kid puffed up slightly. “Any drake could hang onto his blues from mandatory. Just wait while we run the numbers.”

Aurigas bristled, his talons digging in under his kneecaps. He’d probably have holes in the fabric when he checked later. Another fucking problem for the list. He was opening his mouth to tell the kid off again – how, he wasn’t sure, maybe tell him to use his eyes or just look in the damn backseat – when he heard a sound from behind him.

A deep, heavy sigh, followed by an imperious _click_ of a long, elegant talon on a button and the soft drone of the rear window rolling down. Aurigas didn’t dare turn around, but that was fine, because the kid did, and oh, what a _treat_ it was to watch his eyes blow wide and his mandibles drop almost off his face. “Is there a problem here?”

The kid’s shocked stammering was the most beautiful music Aurigas had ever heard. “O-oh, uh, s-spirits, g-good morn-, good morning, sir, I, uh, I didn’t, didn’t realize-”

The rearview caught a snatch of movement as the old man made some gesture. “I asked you if there was a problem, Officer.”

“U-uh, n-n-no, no sir, no problems, just, just checking in-”

“To ensure this vehicle was legitimate, yes, yes, I’ve heard it before. So, to clarify, my driver was _not_ speeding illegally, and our lights are within regulations?”

“Uh, yes, yes sir.”

“I see. For future reference, that datapad the sergeant handed you _is_ Hierarchy-issued, which you would know if you had looked at it properly, or if you had checked the interface in your own vehicle when you were sitting there pulling us up to send the alert, because the car and its VI itself are both specifically flagged as being _mine.”_

The kid was trembling now, hard enough Aurigas wondered if he’d fall apart at the seams into a pile of bones and ego. “Y-yes, sir, s-sorry for the inconvenience, sir-”

Another wave off. “As the sergeant told you, we _are_ running late, so we’ll be on our way. Keep it in mind for the future. Sergeant, as you were.”

Aurigas couldn’t stop the malicious grin lifting his mandibles. “Have a good day, Officer,” he sneered, allowing himself just a little indulgence as he rolled up both windows.

The councilor sighed to himself as Aurigas got the car back online. “C-Sec likes to do that now and again,” he commented. Aurigas checked on him in the rearview to find he was watching the kid scuttle back to the patrol car with narrowed eyes. “Hierarchy vehicles aren’t actually very common spoofs, and they’re immediately flagged as fakes when they are due to the encryptions in the VI. They simply aren’t happy with the Blackwatch presence in the area, same as they dislike any other spec-ops operating on their turf. The Spectres are the worst offenders, obviously, but any other group gets a similar treatment.”

Aurigas grunted, easing back into traffic. “We have a right to be here. We’re doing a job.”

“And you do it well. C-Sec just doesn’t like sharing the spotlight."

Aurigas contemplated this for a moment. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Always, Sergeant. I don’t care much for formalities outside the Tower.”

Aurigas hummed, logging this new rule change and choosing his words carefully before simply huffing, “Power-tripping little fuckface piece of shit.”

That startled a bark of laughter out of the old man, and a little bit of the tension drained out of Aurigas’s shoulders. “I think we’ll get along fine, Sergeant. Put the music back on and drive, we should still have time to swing by Niravi’s before anyone starts hassling me about where I’m at.”

Aurigas lifted one mandible in a much more genuine smile. “Yes, _sir.”_

Somehow, the whole ordeal managed to make the traffic for the rest of the drive somewhat tolerable. He was still surrounded by idiots who couldn’t drive even _with_ VI guidance, and he was still pissed about it, but at least he wasn’t worried about the old man’s opinion of him, and he didn’t have to care about letting him hear him cussing out the particularly stupid ones. He still kept his voice down to a respectful volume, but just saying it _out loud_ made him feel better.

He decided to take it as a point of pride that he was able to get them to the bakery with still plenty of time for the old man to sit around and socialize for a few minutes while his food cooled to an edible temperature. Aurigas himself was introduced to a few regulars and some of the staff – the asari owner’s now-dead turian bondmate’s turian son who was himself too old to help out but liked to sit and enjoy the atmosphere, a volus ambassador who couldn’t really eat anything but came for the tea, a pair of quarian kids paying off community service charges by working there. He said his hellos, answered a couple questions that came his way, but mostly stayed quiet and sipped his kava and nibbled his fritters, occasionally glancing at his chrono to remind the old man they were on a schedule without being _too_ pushy. Old people liked to yammer, some things were the same across all species.

Sparatus somehow came to the conclusion that how much of Aurigas’s food was left would be a good indicator of when to leave, which Aurigas found odd yet convenient so he didn’t have to try to do anything with a fritter in his hand. Once the last bite was gone, that was that, and they left. The bakery was close enough to the Tower the councilor preferred to walk and get a little air, so he told the car’s VI to take itself to the parking garage, checked his sidearm, and once again tried to walk slow enough to keep pace with a little old cob.

The morning guard rotation was already there when they reached the embassy, plus a dark brown hen with a Spectre logo patch on the sleeve of her leather biker jacket. The councilor, straightening himself out and neatening his robes as they crossed the main lobby, dismissed Aurigas with a simple _thank you, I’ll call if I need you,_ then disappeared into his office with the Spectre. Aurigas heaved out a sigh he hadn’t realized he’d been building up the moment the doors shut. What a way to start the new job.

Bation was on guard at the door. His mandibles lifted from _stoic soldier on duty_ to something much friendlier at the sight of him. They were allowed to greet comrades, nobody would begrudge him that much. “Hey,” he said, relaxing slightly as Aurigas padded up. “How’d it go?”

Aurigas hesitated, a slew of possible responses running through his head. His first instinct was to just bite out _awful_ and go outside for a smoke, but then, Bation had been good company earlier, and the sympathetic look on his big, dumb face as he asked made Aurigas think maybe he did actually care.

He considered, then sighed and flicked a mandible. “How about we go get drinks tonight, after you’re off and the old man’s at home for the night, and I’ll tell you about it.”

**Author's Note:**

> bation was supposed to be a throwaway but whoops i gave him too much personality and now they get drinks But It's Not A Date™ until whoops it is and they go to a secondary location and bang
> 
> niravi, her bakery, and the characters associated with it are borrowed from my partner xMidnightSun, all other non-canon characters are mine, especially the sparatus family xoxo


End file.
